


Don't move

by Aamukaste



Series: Whumptober2019 [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Assassin!Alec, Don't Move, Fist Fight, Gen, M/M, Rogue!Magnus, Shenanigans, but they are headed straight to Malec town, there is a bit of violence, they are fighting, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-12-01 19:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20876780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aamukaste/pseuds/Aamukaste
Summary: Assassins!AU that no one asked for. Lighthearted and kinda humorous.Alec is tasked with bringing in a rogue hitman, Magnus has other plans.Part of Whumptober2019, prompt 12 "Don't move" and alternative prompt 5 "fist fight".





	Don't move

**Author's Note:**

> I write gen, because that's how I generally see the world, but have no doubt, those two are meant for each other in any universe.
> 
> (lmao i revisited this and died laughing at myself for that comment)

*

Alec feels it before he sees or even hears the intruder. He can’t believe himself: he is supposed to be on his A game. After all, there is a rogue in town and a bounty on Alec’s head.

As it happens, he closes the door to his apartment, turns, and comes face to face with a gun.

“Hi, honey,” the man sing-songs, his voice deep and smooth.

Alec moves without thinking, gets out of the way and manhandles the gun from him. It’s the rogue alright, Alec would recognise that face anywhere. His bright eyes are gleaming, his jet-black hair is styled up with a purple streak sticking out, his features are sharp, his smirk rueful.

If the man in front of him ever wanted to disappear in the crowd, he’d have a hard time at it, looking like that.

Alec has studied that face for hours while he was trying to pinpoint his location.

“Oh, you are good,” the rogue says excitedly, as they try to out-manoeuvre each other.

He manages to get his gun back, and Alec kicks it out of his hands at the same time as he pulls the trigger. There is a silencer on it. Alec hears a picture on the wall behind him shutter.

The flat is a rental set up, so he doesn’t care much.

“Took you long enough,” Alec says, kicking the gun further down the corridor.

The rogue takes a step back, eyeing him with a smirk as he shrugs his jacket off, the gun forgotten.

Alec tsks. Show off.

“I had to make sure you were as pretty as your bounty picture,” the man says. “And I’m not at all disappointed,” he winks.

They trade blows, slowly waltzing towards the living room.

“Besides, that’s long overdue, isn’t it? I’ve spotted you in Detroit.”

Detroit was five months ago, and Alec’s been on the task for six.

“Why didn’t you stop and say hi then?” Alec mutters dodging another hit.

It was Isabelle’s brilliant idea to get out a bounty on one of their heads to get the rogue to show himself, when it became clear that his apparent witchery worked as well in the US. He was called a witch by most for his unparalleled skill in getting in and out of restricted places and taking out some heavy-guarded figures. He made a lot of noise in Peru before landing on the American soil.

“I didn’t mind the company,” the man shrugs between blows, managing to sound nonchalant. “Although, you didn’t follow me to Toledo, that was rude. There was an exquisite party in that club-”

Alec tries to clock him, once, twice, the third time the man grins wider, catches his arm, and yanks, hard. Alec stumbles but blocks the blow, elbowing him in the solar plexus. The man gasps a soft “oof”.

“Good moves,” he says, stepping backwards, into the living room. “But I can do better, mister Lightwood. Or can I call you Alexander?”

That has its effect. Alec misses a bit, because no one is supposed to know that name, it has been buried long ago, along with a plethora of things. The rogue catches him off guard, hitting him right underneath his Adam’s apple with the edge of his hand. Alec coughs, chocking, and steps backwards, hitting the wall and sliding down slowly, seemingly losing his footing.

The rogue stands above him, and there is a disappointed look in his eyes, even though he is smirking winningly as he tries to even out his breathing.

“You’ve done your homework,” Alec croaks when he stops chocking, “but so did I.”

The smug expression on the rogue’s face turns curious for a split second, and then Alec kicks him in the shin, making him stumble backwards. Right over a glass table.

To be honest, Alec didn’t just do the homework. He became mildly obsessed, all things considered, chasing after the mysterious witch-assassin all over America, watching him take out seemingly random people with various bounties (small, big, none at all), before the man led him right back to New-York. The Clave wanted to get their hands on him or be rid of him, they didn’t appreciate disturbances on their soil and were not known for working well with outsiders.

Alec thought the rogue was… truly magical in his work. If such a thing could be said about assassins.

The man seemed chaotic but was rueful and deliberate, picky at his bounties, not just jumping from one huge check to another. He was searching for someone, and judging by the state some of his victims were found in, he was making steady progress with that hunt of his.

So, of course, Alec had to dig deeper. He even abandoned the watch altogether to fly to Indonesia (that’s when Toledo happened, and Isabelle nearly tore him a new one for that) to run down a tiny, paper-thin hunch.

Of course, there was no way to confirm Alec’s findings beforehand, but well, what else was new.

The man rolls, seemingly unfazed by the table that just broke into pieces under him, and jerks his head, getting his hair out of the way. His lower lip is split and his shadowed eyes are shining with a new-found interest.

“Do tell, darling,” he says, getting the glass shards off himself.

“You’re Indonesian,” Alec says, bracing for another attack.

He smirks besides himself too, because the rogue is as good as he suspected him to be, better even. And he isn’t even trying that hard, that’s clear to both of them. He shoves a chair into his direction, but Alec avoids it easily enough.

“You have eyes,” the man laughs.

“Your first kill was an accident,” Alec says.

That makes the rogue pause and give him a once-over. He spits some blood to the side, before spreading his lips in a cocky smile.

“Do you think I have a sob story?”

“Everybody has a story,” Alec says.

“I knew you were special, Alexander,” is his answer. “I feel the bond between us getting stronger by the second.”

He deals a stinging blow to Alex’s temple, and Alec retaliates by clocking the guy in the nose, and he steps backwards, right into a french window (glass, it’s an old building) this time. The frame budges easily.

Alec moves forward on instinct, grabbing the man’s shirt, breaking his fall. Suddenly, they are close again.

“Is it a gun or are you just happy to see me, Alexander?” the bastard huffs.

He doesn’t miss a bit, pushing back, and stepping away from the window. There is a gash on his left shoulder, where the glass got through, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Alec breathes heavily, catching his breath. He has a gun in a kitchen drawer, but that’s too far. He knows somewhere in the living room there is a throwing dagger, but his ears are ringing, and he can’t pinpoint where exactly, because the room is ruined. There is of course, his bow on the wall, that most people would think an intricate decoration. It’s not.

And yeah, he has his own gun on him.

“Both, actually,” Alec says, pointing the business end at the other man.

The sun highlights the room, casting speckles through the broken shards that seem to be everywhere, a trail of it under the window and all around what used to be the coffee-table. Alec is momentarily distracted by how the lights hit the man at all the right angles. He is tall and fit, and his white shirt, stained with blood all over, doesn’t ruin the look in the slightest.

Alec wants the man to be on his team so badly.

The rogue wipes under his nose with his sleeve, smearing blood over the lower part of his face. He looks down at his ruined shirt and pouts, his lower lip already puffed, then glances back up at Alec.

“Well, that was fun,” he says hoarsely. “Ooh, are you going to shoot me, Alexander?”

That does things to Alec, and even though he doesn’t have time to unpack it all, he does file the fact away.

“Don’t move,” he says. “I’m not after you to kill you, but I will hurt you.”

“Oh, I do hope so,” the man smirks looking almost manic because of all the blood. He doesn’t move to shield from a possible hit, but neither does he raise his hands in surrender. “So, I’m Indonesian and have a tragic background.” He straightens his ruined shirt. “Say my name, Alexander.”

“Magnus,” Alec says, and the word rolls off his tongue leaving behind a sharp iron taste, “Magnus Bane.”

The man smiles, pleased with the development. He cracks his knuckles.

“All right, that’s a first. Let’s talk business, pretty boy.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me being weird on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zhongmukuikui) or [Tumblr](https://yuncifang.tumblr.com/) and message for a chat~


End file.
